


Devil Takes the Hindmost

by misura



Category: Da Vinci's Demons
Genre: Episode Tag, Explicit Language, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-25 13:19:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16661775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: Zo's happy fun adventures in the realm of Vlad Tepes, the Prince of Darkness and Not Particular Well Lit or Cozy Castles. (post-3x08)





	Devil Takes the Hindmost

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thedevilchicken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/gifts).



> happy Yuletide, thedevilchicken!

Zo's been in some pretty creepy places, but the castle of Vlad Tepes, son of the Dragon, Prince of Darkness, Tall and Psychotic Bastard tops all of them.

 _The things I do for my friends,_ Zo thinks, following Vlad upstairs, to some guestroom Zo sincerely hopes doesn't include any implements of torture. (He's not really holding his breath though. Call it a hunch.)

"A few days, to pack the material," Vlad says. He really _is_ tall. Under other circumstances, in a different country, in another life, Zo might have found him attractive, in a slightly-but-not-too dangerous, useful-to-have-around-in-case-of-a-fight kind of way. (Also, Zo bets he's the type who gets bossy in bed.) "Until then, you and your friend will be enjoying my ... hospitality."

"Great," Zo says. "Though really, we don't want to put you to any trouble. We could just - "

"Please." Vlad smiles. Zo tries to recall how high up they are, and on which side the moat is, in case 'jumping out a window' becomes a preferable choice to 'sticking around'.

Of course, Vlad being Vlad, there's probably something deeply unpleasant and highly aggressive living in the moat. Flesh-eating fish, possibly. Plus, there's poor Nico to consider.

"Bet that's a word that doesn't come out of your mouth too often," Zo says.

Vlad shrugs. "Only remember. Three deaths you owed me. Now, it is two. And, I think, a rematch."

Zo considers pointing out that drugging someone isn't fatal, generally speaking. "Fine," he says. "You want to get your ass kicked, I'm there. Any time, any place." He's _good_ , he reminds himself. He's got this. He's fucking _untouchable_. (Well. When it comes to chess, anyway.)

Vlad stops walking. "Your room."

The door creaks, which isn't creepy or anything. Rather normal, by comparison. There's a window, facing the courtyard, rather than the moat, which is less than ideal. The bed looks normal. Big.

"Well. Good night. Looking forwards to a drug-free breakfast," Zo says.

Vlad chuckles.

 

Zo half-expects to have nightmares, about losing the match, Nico bleeding his life out, while Vlad sits by and watches. _I will fill a bath tub with your blood._

Or maybe something a little bit less self-centered: Leo and his doomed crusade. Better, Zo thinks, to get killed here, by Vlad, however painfully and slowly and horribly, than to go back and watch Leo kill himself, throwing himself against forces for which even his genius is no match. (Mind, Leo can be a bloody idiot some of the time. Still. Zo's here, isn't he?)

Of course, you could argue no nightmare's going to top reality, which consists of waking up to find sunlight shining through the window and Vlad fucking Tepes looking down on him.

"You are awake. Good."

Zo doesn't see what's good about it. "What the bloody fuck."

"A good host always keeps an eye on the wellfare of his guests." Vlad grins, showing teeth.

"So pluck out an eyeball and leave it on the table or something," Zo says, because right now, he's feeling cranky and moody and just a little bit afraid and annoyed with the world in general.

Vlad purses his lips. Zo gets a sudden vision of Vlad reaching out a hand and plucking out his (which is to say: Zo's) eyeball, casual as fuck.

"Breakfast is being served."

Zo hopes there's wine. Getting drunk sounds like an excellent method to get through the coming days.

 

There's no wine, just mostly harmless looking porridge. Nico's there already, looking mostly all right, digging in with the enthusiasm of the young.

The breakfast bowls look like they've been made out of skulls. They probably are.

"Zo!" Nico shots up. "Are we leaving?"

"Not yet," Vlad says. Zo's pretty damn sure he knows Nico's not really thinking about the armour. "Soon."

"I'm guessing two, three days?" The porridge tastes all right. Porridge-like. _Two deaths,_ Zo thinks. Him and Nico? A fair price for Vlad's help, although of course Zo'd rather make it out of here alive. He's got a lot to live for, after all, and anyway, on his list of Ways I Wouldn't Mind Dying, getting killed by Vlad is way, way down.

"Something like that, yes." Vlad inclines his head. "I will, of course, summon the members of the Order. They will join us."

Zo decides that this sounds promising. Possibly what it promises is that Vlad will keep the two of them alive long enough to show them off to his precious fucking order. "Great," he says.

"Meanwhile, perhaps you might spar a bit with my guards. For fun, of course." Vlad's eyes gleam.

 _I'll show you fun,_ Zo thinks. "Sure. Why not?"

 

The answer, obviously, is: because it won't be fun. At least, not for some people.

"Your guards fight fucking dirty," Zo tells Vlad, who definitely looks like he's enjoying himself.

On the other hand, Zo figures that Vlad's not here to finish him off or anything (that'd be far too quick) and given that he hasn't seen anyone else around who looks even remotely medically inclined, Vlad might be here to patch him up, which would be nice of him.

"My guards fight to win." Vlad sits. "If I may?"

"Go ahead," Zo says. It feels fucking weird, having Vlad go polite on him all of a sudden.

Vlad leans forward, a bit closer than Zo'd assume necessary to get a good look at the cut on his forehead. It's hardly a life-threatening injury, anyway; it's already stopped bleeding. Zo figures that as long as he keeps it clean, that one's not going to -

Vlad licks him. With his tongue. His tongue on Zo's skin.

Zo's dick decides it's more or less on board with getting licked by a murderous psycho. The rest of him is a bit more sensible. Not much, just a bit. "Um," Zo says.

Vlad backs away, licking his lips. There's a bit of red in the corner of his mouth. _My blood,_ Zo thinks. _Fucking fuck's fucking crazy._

"Much better than porridge," Vlad says.

 _You think_ that's _good, you should try sucking my dick,_ Zo thinks, but happily manages not to say out loud. Call him a pessimist, but somehow, he doubts that it would go over at all well.

Anyway, would he really trust Vlad's mouth anywhere near his dick? The man's psychotic. Zo bets he's a biter, too, like those dogs of his.

Vlad moves in again. Zo is reminded that 'um' doesn't generally count as saying 'I thought you were going to give me first aid, and I was fine with that, but while it turns out that getting licked by you is kind of a turn-on for me, I would prefer not to repeat the experience'.

There's not really time to get out quite so many words though, so Zo figures he's going to have to settle for the next best thing.

"Chess rematch tonight?"

 

The good thing about Vlad's room is that it looks kind of normal.

There's a hearth with fire in it, a desk, a table with a chessboard on it, two chairs. A big bed. A nice, empty space where a cage of swords might have been waiting for a victim.

Vlad takes one of the chairs and gestures. "Please. Sit."

Zo sits. He tries to relax. He should relax, really; when it comes to Vlad and Vlad's castle, it probably doesn't get much better than this.

"Wine?" Vlad doesn't wait for his answer.

"Thought you preferred blood," Zo says. He barely feels the wound on his forehead anymore. The memory of Vlad's tongue's lodged pretty firmly in his memory though. "Or tuica." Possibly not the smartest thing to say.

"You know little of my preferences," Vlad says. "It will be my pleasure to instruct you."

 _Right. Well, that doesn't sound fucking ominous. At all._ Zo nudges one of his pawns forward.

The wine's good, at least. A little spicy. Zo lets Vlad refill his cup a couple of times while they play. It's nice, being able to calmly think about his next move, to study Vlad's face, the thin red lines. Zo wonders what the rest of Vlad's body looks like, what it would feel like under his hands. What it would taste like, if he put his mouth on it.

Vlad's playing better than last time, Zo thinks. That's all right. Winning too easy's no fun when there aren't any lives at stake, when it's just for fun.

The room's nice and warm. Normally, Zo'd expect to feel a bit drowsy. It's been a long day, after all.

"More wine?" Zo's not sure what it is about Vlad's tone that makes him sit up straight. There's _something_ there, though, something just the tiniest bit off.

"You fuck. You _promised_ \- " Not in so many words, granted, but still. Zo likes his justified indignation, and he'll cling to it with his dying breath, if need be.

Vlad pours himself some wine and drinks it. "A mild aphrodisiac. To make the game more interesting."

 _For who?_ Zo's pretty damn sure that it's not some aphrodisiac talking when he fantasizes about Vlad pinning him down on that big bed with those strong hands of his. Zo's no slouch with a sword, or even without one, but he's pretty damn sure Vlad's got him beat.

"Oh, thanks very much." Zo holds out his cup. "In case you missed it, I'm winning."

"For now," Vlad allows. "Your move, I believe."

Zo promises himself he's going to _slaughter_ Vlad. Also fuck him, possibly, or get fucked by him, who the fuck knows, but right here, right now, Vlad's only going to go one way, and that way is _down_.

 

"A good game," Vlad says, five hours or five minutes later. (It's gotten _really_ warm, and Zo's been less concerned with time passing and more concerned with cutting Vlad off at the proverbial knees.)

"Warned you, didn't I?" Zo knows he's gloating, but fuck it. He deserves a good gloat, after all the shit Vlad's put him through this visit.

Vlad shrugs. "I do not object to losing a game of chess against an ally."

"Allies? So that's what we are now, huh?" Zo grins. He feels pretty good. It's the wine, he thinks. The warm room. The company. Knowing that Vlad's not averse to slipping him aphrodisiacs.

Sure, it's not _romance_ or anything, but it's not exactly stone-cold rejection either, so Zo figures he's in with a chance.

"That is what you came for, is it not?" Vlad carefully puts the chess pieces back into their box. "To offer yourself to me? It is an offer I will accept."

"Have accepted," Zo corrects, because he's played one game of chess already tonight and he's not really in the mood for a second round, even one that uses words instead of pawns and castles and kings.

Vlad inclines his head. "Shall I walk you to your room?"

Zo gets up. His legs feel steady enough. His head's a bit foggy, but plenty clear enough to keep up with Vlad Tepes, the Prince of Darkness and Not Particular Well Lit or Cozy Castles.

"Thanks, but I'm pretty sure I can find my own way."

"Of course," Vlad says. "Then, sleep well. We shall talk again later."

 

So. Zo figures he maybe could have stuck around and tried out how some of his fantasies would work out in reality, but the thing is: Vlad is Vlad, and Vlad may be fantastically attractive only he's also a madman and a murderer who put Nico in a cage.

Arguably, that makes the idea of simply hopping into bed with him and getting it out of his system seem maybe kind of sensible and logical. Zo's less big on sense and logic than he is on making it back to Italy alive, though. He's on a mission here, after all. People are relying on him. He can always get himself killed on his own time.

His room (which he's been able to find just fine by himself, thank you very much, Vlad) feels a bit cold, a bit empty.

"Either you got lost on the way here, or you walked very slowly."

Correction: not that empty after all. "Vlad. Fuck."

"I am not usually in the habit of heeding the commands of mongrels," Vlad says. Zo can't actually see him. (A bit cold, not that empty and very poorly lit.) "Not even when they are my allies, who have beaten me in a game of chess."

"Two," Zo says, trying to figure out where Vlad is standing, and how worried he should be. "Two games."

"The first, you played for your friend's life," Vlad says. "For the second, you have not yet claimed your prize."

Zo gets a sinking feeling he knows where this is going. "I thought we were just playing for fun."

"Fun," Vlad says, like he doesn't know the meaning of the word. (Well. His definition's probably not like Zo's or any other normal person's, so fair enough.) "No."

"All right then, what have I won?"

Vlad steps forwards, into the light of the torch. He's not wearing particularly much of anything.

 _Fuck me,_ Zo thinks, before he starts to strip out of his own clothes.

Things get a bit hazy after that.

 

"I can't stay."

Vlad's not a snuggler, which is a big shock, obviously. He's present, though, and rather warmer than Zo would expect of a dead man. (Or an undead one, not that he knows much about that.)

"If you get yourself killed, I will search the earth until I have found your body," Vlad says. "Then, I will call upon the powers of Hell to resurrect you, so that I may spend eternity visiting upon you agony upon agony, to pay for your carelessness."

"You can do that?" Zo asks. It's Leo's bad influence, he thinks: he gets curious about the kind of things he'd probably be just as happy not knowing about.

"You dare doubt my word?"

"Um, no. Of course not." Zo figures that as long as he stays alive (which he was planning to do anyway), he's fine. No problem. No worries.

"Good. It would be a pity to have to kill you."

"Yeah," Zo says, deciding to just ... let it go. Drop the subject. Get out while he can. "Abso-fucking-lutely. So can I borrow one of your good horses?"


End file.
